


Promise (Alternate, Explicit version)

by 19Thedas80 (VictoryRoad)



Series: 19Thedas80 - B-Sides [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, M/M, Modern Thedas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:43:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6595228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoryRoad/pseuds/19Thedas80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Iron Bull, a star on the field, doesn't quite get his roommate. Still, he never expected a prim and proper mage to come home reeking of alcohol and with cheeks puffier than his own.</p><p>This is an alternative, very explicit ending to the otherwise mostly G-rated 'Promise'. http://archiveofourown.org/works/3985618</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise (Alternate, Explicit version)

The Iron Bull had a fixed post-game ritual: ten minutes in the dorm shower, when no one was around to complain about using too much water. It was a different environment to the gym shower – that was all games and fun and misfiring towel-flicks, but he didn’t want that. He wanted to take his time, a gentle soap and lather searching and diving deep in the crevices and curves of his body that a communal shower was too public to reach. Make no mistake – the Iron Bull had no concerns with showering in public, this was his second shower of the night, but he believed in focus during the proper task. If he played the game, he would be a mess – mud, sweat and blood (if he was lucky), and the risk of missing it turned from a thing-to-laugh-about-in-bed to a dealbreaker too many times for his taste.

The men and women of UFSH were much more delicate than his hometown-tumbles back at Seheron High, or the many, many folk he’d met while wandering south and East again, but here he was, and this was what he had to deal with. Hiding in the dorm shower when everyone else was asleep, running his hands over chest and thigh, ass and shoulder, until he was certain every inch had been scrubbed clean enough for the ironically named dog lords of UFSkyhold-Haven. Hell, the people of Ferelden were called dog lords by their own people, how did they have a problem with a little mud and blood? He would have to blame it on the eastern Orlesians going to a University of Fereldan college. It was an old Qunari prejudice but everyone else shared it enough for him not to care too much about Orlais-born tears.

He ran his hands in wide circles, water running thick over his skin in day’s-use-weakened pressure, his hands tightening into a grip to get the last few missing spots as he turned his back to the showerhead. His hands ran in broad over the firm ridge of his ass, his fingers glancing off his asshole in that way that always made him stand to attention, and always made him feel like he’d violated the sanctity of the shower room.

He’d joke about how thorough he had to be with the Chargers, they knew that’s why he took a second shower after them. He didn’t hide it. He went into intimate details about how strongly he had to paw at his crotch, they all laughed at that one, but he knew his roommate would faint in upper-middle-class shock if he ever brought it up. He didn’t quite understand the bunking arrangements, but that’s what computers were for. The running theory was that differential pairings were an education department scheme – a test to see if opposites encouraged more productive solo work. There was no proof, but it had to be the case. Sera, the scraping-through art student next door, swore as much when it came to being saddled with a religious-studies-and-war-history double major. He turned the knobs, pulled a towel around himself and decided that if Dorian was there, he’d scandalise him for the hell of it.

“Hey, how you doin’?” He flirted, shooting a sly wink at a passing couple. The man – an elven boy, really – got suddenly protective, his arm flying out to pull the human girl closer. _Not who I meant, handsome, but I wouldn’t turn her away either._ The thought put a wider smirk on Bull’s face as he pushed open his door. He was an early thirties first-year, that in itself was normally enough to get people raising eyebrows, let alone living in the dorms with the teens, but he still got his. “Anyone home?” He called out. No, no one was. He let the towel drop as he crossed the room to find something more resembling clothes. Fereldan clothes weren’t made for Qunari bodies – there were plenty of big men and women here, but they were a different shape to the naturally mountainous followers of the Qun. Everything that fit him seemed to have stripes or some other pointless gaud. He liked a bit of tackiness, but the bright red stripes were getting to be overkill. Fereldan had a fashion problem, and the Bull – if only for a moment – wondered if he was the first Qunari to be bothered by this.

 

With a foot passing through the first undergarment he found, Bull smirked at the sound of an opening door and an exasperated yell.

“Maker,” came a defeated voice, dripping with the long-vowels of a well-pickled man, “Every fucking time.”

“I’ll get this beautiful vista out of your face in a minute,” Bull called back, pulling the fabric up and over him as best he could. “I only just got in. You can’t hold that against me.”

“I can hold you and your- your…” How much had Pavus had to drink? The man was far from the composed Vint the Bull was used to. “Your jockstraps, that you don’t even wear for sport, that you keep in a basket…” Changing stresses. Something was up. That was a sign to pull on something resembling pyjama bottoms – but not before plucking the strapping of his jockstrap to make sure it sat comfortably. Dorian’s groan was audibly contemptable, but the sound he made falling onto the couch took all the fun out of laundry-fresh pyjama bottoms.

“I… Andraste’s tits, Pavus, I only just did my laundry. I just hadn’t put it away.” He folded his arms somewhat disapprovingly, finally casting an eye over the visibly pink and definitely upset face of his roommate. He was a fucking academic – at least, hopeful for it. He didn’t think academics got upset, they just glowered sternly at more books than usual. “I suppose I could put it away… more often…”

Damn it, comfort wasn’t in the Bull’s inventory. He knew plenty of things, lots of tips and tricks to bolster the preternatural swagger that glided him from bed to bed, but comforting someone like Dorian was… more difficult. Pavus was a mage – a born quality that amounted to little more than parlour tricks and the odd convenient cigarette light. There was enough noise out there about how awful they were, though, especially back home. Maybe some of it was... No, Bull thought, This isn’t a mage problem. Seheron wasn’t well known for its tolerance to diversity beyond what was considered useful – mages were not that at all. He’d tried to unlearn a lot in Fereldan, but plenty still lingered.

“Why, uh…” He perched awkwardly on the edge of the couch, his heavy frame carving valleys around the slender body of his roommate. He was such a slight thing, really. It was a wonder he didn’t break. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Like you care,” Dorian scoffed to the Bull’s surprise.

“Hey now, I care.” Bull turned to their side table – a half-glass of water he’d left still sat there. For how long, he wondered? He couldn’t remember when he last blobbed out in front of their TV. Must have been days. He summoned the courage and took a sip, anything to distract himself. Why was he so strange around Dorian? They were both strangers in a strange land – even if Vints and Qunari had a history akin to a drunken fistfight. “Look, I…” He clasped the glass tightly, a ring tapping against it lightly. An old token. Barely worth remembering, he wasn’t that guy right now.

“When I was younger, maybe around… seventeen, I think? Anyway, I was on this trip. Standard Qun school stuff. We still do all the old-time things. I was a Ben-Hassrath. Fancy name for spy. It’s a bit like being a Fereldan Boy Scout. You forage, you learn things… We learned debating, etiquette, things to blend in. Supposedly, we’re meant to use it to serve the Qun. I do, sometimes. The odd letter to the Arishok. The odd letter back that’s only really signed with his name. It’s all nonsense, ceremony at this point, but it engages the followers and scares the nosy, you know? Anyway, I was seventeen, learning to be an old-world spy in the worst way possible, when I came across this boy. He was in the bushes, making noises. I went to look. There he is, getting with this girl. She must have snuck into the camp. He was going for it. Anyway, I interrupt. You know, a polite cough. He pulls out like lightning and it’s all hands over his crotch. She’s shocked and looking for cover. I laugh, and I say to him, ‘You weren’t nearly as into it when I did that to you, man’. He goes bright red, and the girl turns to him and say ‘You fucked the Bull too?!’ Ah.” Bull took a deep breath, a light chuckle coming through in the lower tones, “Great couple. Got married too young but I don’t judge.”

Dorian looked up for a moment, stunned. “Maker,” He breathed in raspy tones, sounding more sober by the minute. “Why would you tell me that?” The young Pavus slid backwards on the couch, his torso coming upright and his legs moving inwards. Bull had his first proper, lit view of his face. Those were definitely tears – Dorian tended to experiment with gender somewhat more than other students, and it seemed like even if he wasn’t wearing makeup, he’d at least tried out some mascara for wherever he’d been. A date, maybe? Did Dorian even date?

“C’mon, tell me it didn’t distract you just a little bit?” Iron Bull smirked. Dorian’s face dropped for a moment, before a low and panting laugh spit forth. Only for a second, of course, but it was enough to satisfy the Bull. “See? All better.”

“You think that’s it?” Dorian’s jaw gaped slightly. “You don’t comfort much, do you?”

“Not in practice,” Bull said, turning back to the cup in his hands. “We’re a stoic people.”

“So are we,” Dorian said, reaching into his jacket. Out came a flask, a beautiful silver, but Bull couldn’t even guess at the liquor – it met Pavus’ lips far too quickly as the young student seemed to inhale it. “I need to refill this. I can’t be sober tonight.”

“Woah, slow down there. You’re drinking like a Qunari. Slight wee thing like you, I figure that’s gotta shave about ten years off you.” Bull reached a hand towards him, but Dorian pulled back. He wasn’t sure if it was resistance to the larger man’s presence or just a protectiveness over his alcohol. Either way, Bull took the hint. He understood boundaries, he wasn’t an animal. “How about you try talk me through it. Maybe I have some sage counsel for you… or at least a story about asses to take your mind off it.”

Dorian scoffed for a moment, his body curling into a withdrawn, but certainly much more upright, position. His face was streaky, and his cheeks were puffy, but underneath it all was still the same mustachio’d nerd that Bull argued with so much.

“Alright, fine. If you must know, I… maker.” He took another drink, making a face that suggested he was getting low. and settle back into the couch a little, one arm still tightly pulling his knees towards him. “OK, Fine. I had a few too many to drink… At one of Dean Vivienne’s Salons.”

“So you drank too much!” Bull laughed, slapping a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. The younger man flinched, and Bull quickly reassessed the things he did on instinct. “Sorry, force of habit. Anyway, drinking, we all do it. I do it too much! That political type a few doors down, Blackwall, the guy standing for the Warden party, he homebrews the most noxious stuff this side of the Crestwood Bridge. A few of those and we were both dancing naked on the top of Vice-Chancellor Cullen’s office. Boy, did he-”

 

“Fuck’s sake, Bull!” Dorian yelled, his flask flying across the room. He shot upwards like lightning, Iron Bull’s face stunned by the outburst. He was so quiet, though. Maker. Bull stood quietly, crossing the room and lifting the flask. He set it gently on their kitchenette, before pulling a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water. He offered it in penance.

“I’m sorry. This is how I deal with things, OK? We’re not a big sort-out-feelings people.”

“You think I am? I had too many drinks at a goddamn salon and accidentally quoted seven slave-owners in a row. I mean, I’m from Tevinter. All we did was change the law to rename it. I grew up surrounded by great man histories of slave owners and after a handful of Andraste-blessed drinks I suddenly start quoting them all! I told an Elven girl to read the works of Darinius in front of Madame de Fer, the only person outside of the wasteland of Tevinter who could have put me on the academic track. I lost the goddamn game, Bull. I’m done.”

He dropped to his knees, slumped against the TV cabinet. “I’m done.”

“Hey now,” Bull said, pulling himself up on tired legs. “Don’t uh… Don’t be… cry?” He let himself descend as gently as the Iron Bull could alongside him. Dorian pulled away, but Bull stayed put. “There’s plenty out there. If Dean Viviwhatser actually controlled anything, she’d be doing that and not inviting first-years to fancy parties. Don’t get me wrong, I know she’s got clout, but she’s not gonna blacklist you for being an asshole who needs to unlearn some shit.”

“Gee, thanks,” Dorian said, hands fumbling awkwardly around the glass of now mostly-no-longer-water. “Tell me how you really feel, why don’t you.”

“Hey, I’m an asshole too. Strangers in a strange land - it brings it out in us, you know?” Bull leaned back, settling into his seat and letting his legs unfurl from their awkward perch. “Hell, I’m Qunari. You know how many people here are afraid of that? Everything’s a conspiracy. I play on that so much. It’s fun. It’s also doing shit for my fellow Qunari, who’re getting dirty looks from anyone I messed with. I don’t know much about Fereldan other than I got offered a scholarship to be here because I did a half-semester at a school in Nevarra as a thirty year old man and got scooped because UF wanted a football team. I fuck things up constantly.” Bull’s head rested against the wall, his horns sitting lilted against aged white topcoat. “The only things I know how to do are drink, screw and live in Seheron. Fucking up is about all I’ve got. I’m OK with that.”

“… I suppose you’re right.” Dorian shifted, his body moving closer to the Bull. It was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Bull knew he needed this. Giving people what they needed - that was the one thing he could do. “I just…” A hand that was vacillating on the edge between sober and drunk slipped around Bull’s arm as Dorian’s weight shifted. They sat there, pregnant pauses as the younger man’s head fell to a bruised and battered shoulder. “I just wish I felt more in control.”

“We all do,” Bull said, wrapping his arm around him. “Not having control is probably the one thing everyone has in common.” He held the young mage close, two fingers running gently through his hair in the way that he knew Qunari mothers used to do, comforting in a tactile rhythm. “You’re gonna be OK, Dorian. Everything will be OK.”

“Thank you,” Pavus breathily intoned, the familiar sound of a man finally succumbing to the night. “You’re… You’re comfortable.” He said, lifting his head ever-so-slightly, his breath nowhere near as thick-and-toxic as it had been.

“Hey.” Pavus’ lips were a half-inch from Bull’s face, but the bigger man pulled back. “Are you sure?”

“I am,” Dorian replied, as they met in a sudden fury. It was like a switch turning, the lithe and somewhat drunk man had all the control of someone freshly risen, his lips tracing, pressing and nipping at Bull’s in an unexpected reverie. Bull’s mind raced for a moment, wondering if he should, but the boy was in control, and he was too firm to be more than a little tipsy. He had given consent, and was taking the lead. It was more than enough.

“Go shower,” He finally managed to say through the aggression of Dorian’s kisses. “If you’re serious, go shower, and I’ll be waiting.”

Dorian pulled back, somewhat stunned, but rose with a groan and crossed to his bedroom. Bull didn’t prey on drunk boys, he’d made enough mistakes himself when drunk. Pavus’ footing was confident enough. He was definitely sober now. The young Tevinter crossed out of the room again with a towel, turning back with a smirk.

“This better be worth it,” He replied, and Bull could only muster an eyebrow raise that he hoped said ‘Oh, it will be’. It was such an odd and exciting change in personality – they’d had their flirtations, but it had always so quickly turned aggressive. Whatever off-hand comment Bull might make, there was something he had also done wrong, and Dorian was quick to find it.

It was also possible, he knew, that Dorian was leading him on. He would hold no grudges about that, of course, but he’d known enough men who decided halfway through that they’d changed their mind, and in a place like UFSF there was always another dorm you could find shelter in if you didn’t want to go home. That, however, seemed beyond the pale. It seemed so unfair to Dorian – flirty, generous, eager Dorian, who despite the rocky start to their rooming arrangements had offered him spare linen and sheets when Bull had fallen ill about two weeks into the semester. Maybe that was why, against his best and most reasoned internal monologue, he stood, threw back on his towel, and headed to the shower.

He passed no one in the halls this time, a faceless passage to the seemingly endless tiled space. There were public and private showers, for folk of all dispositions, and he found it unsurprising that as he stripped to only his jockstrap (his clothes and towel dumped unceremoniously on a bench at the entrance), turning the corner into the public area revealed no sign of the young Pavus. Instead, he crossed to the private stalls, and followed the sound of light humming. Careful not to make a sound, he listened as the humming turned to slight chatter. Dorian, speaking to himself only, muttering words that half-echoed against the time-dulled white tiles.

“Maker, he’s _hot_ Dorian, get a hold of yourself. He’s hot, you’re just a boring Tevinter mage. They _hate_ Vints, and he doesn’t like _you._ This means nothing to him.” He paused to sigh, and Bull waited patiently at the entrance to the cubicle. It wasn’t _too_ private – no curtain or walls higher than a man’s head, but it had a small bench and enough room to spread out. Bull rested his weight against the corner, neither hiding, nor announcing himself. “If only… God, Imagine that _cock._ Imagine those hands. No, no, you got this. He wants to. You can get it out of the way. Know what it’s like. That’s enough.”

“You’re wrong, you know.” Bull had tried to sound cool, but Dorian’s sudden terror sent him spinning around, his feet slipping out from under him as he tumbled to the sodden poured concrete floor. “Woah,” the larger man exclaimed as he rushed to the young Tevinter’s side. No blood or serious injury, thankfully, and Dorian wasn’t objecting to any pressure anywhere. His hands gripped tightly around the young man’s side, his brown cock glistening with water that ran between them. Bull’s eyes, however, were focussed on Dorian’s face, and they had locked together without realising.

“… What?” Dorian asked finally, the shock being overridden by the Bull’s earlier statement.

“You’re wrong about me. I fuck around, sure, but if someone wants more, and I like them, I’ll give that to them. We grow up with a different view of relationships, but Qunari aren’t heartless. We work in different ways.” He paused for a moment, his grip tightening around Dorian. “We could work in different ways.”

Before it seemed like Dorian had even fully comprehended him, those furious lips were back up on him as the young Tevinter pushed him backwards. Slick concrete and tile met Bull’s back, as did the uncomfortable mesh of the drain, while Dorian’s tan body slid over Bull’s paler, much more purple flesh. What was it that biology class said – Qunari skin ran blood closer to the surface? His entire body felt like a fire-swelling rush of blood, his hands unsure where to land as they moved strong and tight over Dorian’s back. They were unspoken now, skin rubbing against skin in silent song, Dorian’s thick cock growing as it ran again and again over the thin cotton of Bull’s jockstrap. He was in no place to judge, of course, his own cock now pressing out of the almost useless covering, his foreskin pulled at by the waistband to reveal the thick purple head.

Dorian’s breath was laboured now, their skilful grinding getting him much further along than Bull had anticipated, so he took it as a sign and pulled backwards, straightening his body against the wall of the cubicle. What outline of his cock had not broken free of the jockstrap was now clearly visible through the drenched white fabric. Dorian, somewhat splayed on the ground with his cushion now removed, took the hint and reached forward. His fingers hooked underneath the band of the jockstrap and, pulling it down tightly so as to give the rough sensation of moving fabric against sensitive skin, let it bob gently towards his mouth.

Bull inhaled sharply as Dorian’s tongue worked its magic, curling gently to accept the thick head as it passed over his lips. It was true what they said about Qunari cock, though Dorian wasn’t packing lightly either. He could hear the light tapping of Pavus’ own cock against the concrete floor, the young mage’s entire body getting into the act. It was a gentle twist of the body, slow and steady to match the turns and flexes of his neck. The end result was heavenly, with Dorian’s tongue running across the widest points of his glans before the boy’s head plunged, a slight gag emerging from his throat as the thick cock entered his throat.

“Fuuuck,” Bull breathed, surprised as how far along he had gotten himself. Instinctively his hand ran to the back of Dorian’s neck, keeping his head in place as his cock throbbed in the boy’s throat, before finally releasing to the sound of a gasping Dorian and his own heavy breathing. “Shit, you’re definitely not new to this, huh?”

“Whatever gave you that impression?” He replied coyly, a thick drop of saliva falling from the side of his lips as his hand slowly worked Bull’s shaft. He lowered himself again, repeating his all-too-wonderful process again. In one fell swoop, the sight of Dorian’s body shifting gently to match the rhythm of his head had turned pavlovian, and from deep inside Bull a warning bell began to ring. He let his hand run from Dorian’s back to underneath his chin, lifting him up in an act of coy dominance.

“Not so fast,” He whispered through a wide grin, bobbing his head to the nearby bench. Dorian took the hint, and Bull followed, his hands reaching out as Dorian aimed too far down. “No, no,” He said, grabbing the firm hips that surrounded his glistening brown ass, pulling him backward. He was half-on, half-off the bench, kneeling somewhat before it as his hands rested on the wooden slat. It left him exposed, his knees sliding on the slick edge of the water-strewn tiles as Bull spread himself between them. Dorian buckled lower, his chest pressed tight against the bench and his cock pointed firmly downwards as it poked out from the edge of the wood.

The Iron Bull leaned low, his horns pressing lightly against Dorian’s thighs, his tongue curling as much as it could around the tip of the thick, purple cock head before him. He let his tongue run along the shaft, dragging it upwards until it ran over his low-hanging balls, lapping playfully at the ridges of their shape before pulling over the thickest base. He was a man on a mission now, and he found his goal as his tongue ran deep into the crevice of Dorian’s ass. It found the peculiar folds and curves of his aperture, the sound of his mouth working strong against it overpowering the whimper of pleasure coming from the other end of the boy.

Bull’s hands pulled at the curves of his ass, spreading them further to work in deeper. His hole became a shallow sleeve, pressing against the tip of Bull’s tongue as it found deeper and deeper entry, the body before him writhing as Dorian’s back arched in pleasure. It became a game of sorts, as Dorian’s hips began to grind against Bull’s face while he kept total focus on the hole, breaking only for shallow breaths as he continued his onslaught. Before long, it felt pliant and friendly, and Dorian’s bucking had slowed, and it gave Bull all the signal he needed.

“Turn over,” He said, and the mage complied. With hesitation, though, he admitted to not thinking quite so far ahead. “I don’t have any-“

“Don’t worry,” Dorian said with a wink, “I have a trick up my sleeve.”

Bull nodded gently, unsure but not arguing, and pressed himself against the young man. Dorian’s legs instinctively arched around him, his feet catching like hooks between Bull’s shoulders and horns. He pressed himself firm against Pavus’ hole, his thick head tapping against the pliant friend he had made earlier.

“Deep breath,” He said, and pushed forward. There was resistance at first, but his thick head pushed deep into Dorian with more ease than he expected. He didn’t question Dorian’s ‘trick’, though it was obviously well-practiced, and instead began his most common ritual. He began to thrust slow at first, gentle and friendly, matching to the depth of Dorian’s breathing. He could tell he was slightly larger than the boy was used to, and it was echoing through the higher notes that slipped out with each thrust.

As that slowed, he took his thrust deeper still, pressing his thick cock as far into Dorian as he could. He was pressing hard against him now, the young mage’s cock rubbing firm against his chest. He reached forward with one hand, collecting the hands pressing back on him. With a hard grip, he pulled them back behind Dorian’s head, the sound of their combined hands clattering onto the wooden board. His other hand ran tight around the mage’s cock, trapped tightly between their abs, moving with each increasingly aggressive thrust of Bull’s hips.

He was increasing in tempo now, delighting in the racing of Dorian’s breath as the sound of his hips against the man’s ass began to echo louder and louder. It had turned into a beat now, _thump thump thump,_ until the sound of Dorian’s breathing turned into louder and louder curses.

“Fuck, fuck…” They were falling from his lips like rain, and Bull let his body pull backwards as Dorian’s cock began to throw thick splotches of cum across his water-and-sweat-stained chest. Bull smiled at the sight for a moment, slowing his thrusts to allow Dorian a chance to catch his breath.

“Don’t worry, happens to us all eventually,” Bull teased, and Pavus shot him a withering glare.

“You more often than most old man.” Bull laughed as he increased his thrusting, only to find Dorian’s hands were once again free and pulling at his skin. He let the mage pull him closer, feeling his hot breath on his face as Dorian leaned in again for his all-too-passionate kissing. It broke repeatedly, Bull’s thrusting returning to the furious pace it had previous kept, and every other plunge of his cock into the mage’s ass elicited a new whimper, but Bull knew he wanted it. His legs were almost parallel to his body now, a gymnast’s feat that he would have to ask about. So much about Dorian’s body excited him, and he wondered if the cute brown face looking up at him felt the same. He winced unexpectedly, his body catching up with him.

“Damn, nearly there,” He intoned, and Dorian motioned for him to pull out. He obliged, well aware of the world he lived in, and those sculpted tan legs unfurled like a rolled carpet before him. He clutched himself, jerking furiously to maintain moment, before he realised Dorian had adjusted himself. It must have been agony after the position he’d been locked into, but a curled moustache was pressing gently against the head of Bull’s cock, and that familiar tongue was working its magic. He came almost without warning, his eyes closing fast in the moment.

He blinked them open again to see Dorian’s face covered in more cum than he had expected, a stunned look hidden underneath it.

“I had _meant_ you should aim for my mouth.” He shot Bull a look, and the pair burst into a laughter he had not expected. He slumped momentarily against the wall, catching his breath, watching Dorian move under the shower to wipe his face clean of the offending substance.

“That, uh,” He stumbled, moving to join him. He reached out, wrapping his arms tight around the other man, just enjoying the stream of water for a moment. Dorian’s arms followed, his fingers curling around Bull’s enormous arms.

“I was good, wasn’t I?” It was another quip, but Bull took his meaning. They held each other quietly, water cascading down, in silence neither wanted to break.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, check out the other works in the 19Thedas80s series, including an ongoing about Iron Bull's time in a little border town. http://archiveofourown.org/series/323834


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